


Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust

by dapatty, s0ckpupp3t



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard knew better than to bet against Frank, especially if tights were involved, but someone had to try to keep Dewees from being King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandomreversebb**](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/). Beta’d by [](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/profile)[**hangemhigh27**](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust  
 **Authors:** [](http://s0ckpupp3t.livejournal.com/profile)[**s0ckpupp3t**](http://s0ckpupp3t.livejournal.com/) & [](http://dapatty.livejournal.com/profile)[**dapatty**](http://dapatty.livejournal.com/)  
 **Band:** MCR, Pairings Frank/Gerard,  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Word Count:** 5,355  
 **Warnings:** Lame bet, boys kissing, oral sex, anal sex, implied polyamory, intense geekery, ridiculous costumes, tights, James Motherfucking Dewees  
 **Summary:** Gerard knew better than to bet against Frank, especially if tights were involved, but someone had to try to keep Dewees from being King.  
 **Notes:** Written for [](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandomreversebb**](http://bandomreversebb.livejournal.com/). Beta’d by [](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/profile)[**hangemhigh27**](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/).  
Dearest wonderful, darling artist, [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) , we hope you like what we’ve made you. ♥ ♥ ♥ Don't forget to feed the artist [ HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/362403).

 

Gerard knew this was a bad idea from the get-go. A terrible idea, even. Completely and totally. He even said so, with words, and very firm hand gestures. The real problem was that Gerard knew better; they all knew better. Public figures shouldn’t make bets on what to wear onstage. It must have been some kind of general rule that he’d just never heard. He supposed he could consider himself lucky that he looked good in green, but Frank had probably planned for that, the filthy-minded little shit.

 

****

*Two days earlier*

“I’m just saying that dressing as a yeti is not something one should do without being somehow rewarded. It’s not the fur I minded, per se—it’s the face paint. It’s very blue, Gerard. Very. Blue. Also, sticky.”

“And you looked great in it!”

“Why, thank you.” Dewees nodded incrementally. “And it was also, ‘a dream come true.’ I helped you realize a dream, Gerard. You said so yourself.”

“I did say that,” Gerard said earnestly, fearing where this conversation was about to go. “You did perform some serious fucking dream fulfillment. It was beautiful. Thank you, James.”

“So.” Dewees smiled, lifted an eyebrow, and asked, “What are you going to do for me?”

Gerard flapped his hands in frustration. “Look, you were a fantastic yeti, but I already _wore_ a bear suit. With a vest! Remember the vest? And also face paint!”

“It didn’t stain your eyelids blue, though.” James shrugged, and then gave Gerard a predatory grin. “Okay, we’ll make a bet.”

“A bet.” Gerard looked wary.

“A wager! On Magic. Best of three. Winner gets the king costume. Loser is...” Dewees raised his voice so the whole world could hear. “Frank, what’s the other costume? Your choice, Frank.” Dewees looked smug.

Frank stuck his head in the room. “Peter Pan!”

Dewees shrugged. “Both of them are decent costumes, I’d just... rather be king.”

Mikey leaned in, his head above Frank’s like a totem pole. “The rest of us are being kickass vampires, just so you know.”

“Vampires from _Santa Carla_ ,” Frank chimed in, looking up at Mikey smugly.

Gerard pouted. “Why can’t we all be kickass vampires?”

“We don’t have enough fangs, none of us looks like Kiefer Sutherland, unified group costumes are lame, and, um. I want to be king. _Still not king_. Also, you’d look hot in tights.” Dewees ticked off the reasons on his fingers, ending with his index finger on his thumb, looking at Gerard pointedly. “Besides, you’ve already been Peter Pan before; it’s no big deal, right?” James looked at Frank and Mikey for confirmation.

Gerard looked at the nodding heads that seemed to have him surrounded and sighed. “Okay, fine. Best of three. Deck swapping is legal, as are sideboards.”

“I only have one deck!” James protested.

“Yeah, and I haven’t played against you for six _years_. I haven’t even played Magic for, like, five. I barely remember anything beyond untap, upkeep, draw.” Gee was getting a little high-pitched, totally abandoning his earlier logic. He knew it, too—he could feel it slipping away like sand through his fingers. James had a masterful ability to make him forget things and get all wrapped up in whatever ridiculous scheme he was on about. James and Frank made a deadly effective team.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” James waved his hands as if he were already bestowing favors upon his royal subjects.

Gerard decided to pursue a different thread of reasoning. “So, wait. If Frankie and Mikey and Ray get to be Lost Boys, and I’m going to be Peter Pan, who -- there isn’t even a Peter Pan _figure_ in that movie, I don’t care if Kiefer Sutherland can fly -- why don’t you want to be Captain Hook?” Gerard waved his hands back, trying not to think about all the different ways he’d choose things if he could. He’d probably actually choose Ray to be Captain Hook, and James to be Smee, and Mikey to be Tinkerbell...

“King,” James said pointedly, setting his jaw. And that was that.

******

“Frankie, this is a terrible idea. Bad. Period. End of Line,” Gerard insisted with a clap of his hands, and Frank just beamed at him. The adorable, impossible fucker.

“Well, yeah, maybe. But I don’t actually think you’re gonna lose this bet, Gee,” Frank reasoned. It was hard to think when Frank smiled at him like that, all perfectly wicked and sincere and like Gerard hung the moon -- and the stars, to boot. Gerard was completely screwed. Completely.

“I do _not_ want to have to wear a Peter Pan costume on stage. On purpose.” Gerard put his foot firmly down.

“But Dewees! Dewees cannot be king. It will go to his head. He will be insufferable,” Frank argued, pouting dramatically hands everywhere, blurs of color and intent. “Insufferable. Inconceivable.”

“Tights, Frankie. Green tights under a tunic that looks like a minidress, and I do not think that word means what you think it means.” Gerard sighed, feeling a waver in his resolve. He should have just jumped out the bus window at the first sight of Frank. This was not how he’d pictured spending his free morning.

“C’mon, Gee. It’s for _science_.”

“This is not science.”

“Good point,” Frank acknowledged, then took a breath and returned to his exact same tone, like he was rewinding the conversation so he could tape over his previous sentence. “C’mon, Gee, it’s for a _plastic crown_.”

“Fine.” Gerard sighed and looked down at the sprawl of cards on the table. “Remind me how Trample works again? And I can’t remember what Landswalking is for the life of me.”

Frank tapped a few keys on his laptop. “A creature with a walking ability cannot be blocked if the defender has one or more of those types of lands in play.”

“Does it matter if the land type is tapped or untapped, or does it just have to be in play?” Gerard squinted, pulling Frank’s screen over. This was going to take a while.

******

Gerard sighed and cut James’s deck as it lay before him. James grinned, predatory. “Proud and insolent youth, prepare to meet thy doom!”

Gerard frowned, shuffling his own deck, and set it down in front of James, unwilling to let the quote go unanswered. “Dark and sinister man, have at thee.” He lifted his chin, smiling.

The game began.

 

******

They had won one game each. Gerard was still messing with his sideboard, but he didn’t have enough cards that could deal with the incredibly irritating regenerative abilities of James’s deck.

“C’mon, Gerard, hurry up and lose so I can shorten the hemline of that costume by like three inches.” James smiled wolfishly.

“Five inches in the back,” Frank amended, eyebrows waggling.

“ _You_ need to hurry up and lose so that I can add some bedazzlement to my crown,” Gerard responded, but he knew it was weak. The only way he was winning was if most of James’s resurrection cards were at the bottom of his deck, like they’d been during the first round they played.

“I suppose to lose would be an awfully big adventure,” Gerard sighed.

Sure enough, he lost. Frank crowed in triumph. “YES! C’mon, you need to try it on so we can get you a new one in time for the show if it doesn’t fit.”

“Where’s the glue gun, motherfuckers!” Dewees cackled. “I’ve got rhinestones that have been waiting for this day.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged to the bus where Frank threw around a bunch of laundry before handing him a few scraps of green fabric and a hat. He locked himself in the bathroom, trying to figure out if the tights had a front and a back before pulling them on.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, belting the thin faux-suede tunic.

“They’re not much tighter than your jeans, Gee.” Frank said reassuringly through the door.

“I’m never betting against you again,” Gerard called back through the door, pulling at the short ragged hem.

“You mean James,” Frank corrected.

“Sure. It was definitely James. In no way was this whole thing influenced--dare I say, _masterminded_ \--by you,” Gerard grumbled.

“Open the door and we’ll see how much of a mastermind I am,” Frank called back, blatant invitation in his tone. It was tempting.

 _Conniving little shit_ , Gerard thought. “No,” he declared out loud, getting himself back out of the tights. “You want me to wear this onstage, I will wear it onstage. It fits. That’s what you get, you don’t get any more.”

“Awww, you never let me have any fun,” Frank pouted.

“I do too! Just--” Gerard opened the door, wadding the tunic and tights up in the hat and belting the whole thing together securely, occasionally sparing a narrow-eyed glance at Frank, part caution, part smug tease. When he had it all banded together in a difficult-to-miss ball of green, he gestured at Frank with it, his expression darkening to something serious. “Just don’t cut down the hemline, okay, I seriously already cannot bend over in that thing.”

“Okay, okay,” Frank cackled, appeased.

******

On the night of the Voodoo Festival, Frank bounced impatiently outside the dressing room. Mikey had gone off to find more fake blood to drench them in, and Gerard had thrown out Frank and Dewees. “I don’t _care_. You wanted this, and now I have to do that ridiculous pulling-up-the-tights move. Go shine James’s crown or something.”

He shooed them away as Frank gave James a filthy look. “I’ll shine your crown, baby.”

James pretended to consider. “I _do_ like it when my crown is all shiny and--” he licked his lips exaggeratedly-- “slick.”

“Oh my god.” Gerard rolled his eyes in exasperation, pushing Frank and James out the door and locking it behind them. Frank kept up the innuendo unabated, but Gerard caught the anticipatory sidelong glance Frank was giving him through it all, which was actually pretty hot.

Finally, the door’s lock clicked. Frank practically tripped over himself getting it open. Gerard stood behind it, his hands on his hips, his chin jutting out, his cap at a rakish angle with a new bright red feather in it to match his hair. He looked every inch the wondrous boy ruffian. His red hair stuck out at wild angles, a shiny plastic sword was stuck into his belt, and an impudent smirk told Frank that he had every idea how short that tunic was _and_ how good he looked in it.

“Manly men, we’re men in tights-- tight tights! We run around the forest looking for fights...” Frank sang jubilantly.

“That’s Robin Hood!” Gee smacked Frank’s shoulder, and struck a pose, one hand on his hat, one hand on his sword. “Do I _look_ like Robin Hood?”

Frank whistled, getting a good look. “No, you look like porn.”

Gerard smirked and pushed past him, heading for the stage as the opening act came backstage, making sure to swing his hips just a little. “Good.”

*****

The show was fucking amazing, but that might have had something to do with the way Gerard stalked over to Frank between the first few songs and said into his free ear, “I’m not wearing anything under these tights,” then shimmied back to his side of the stage, winking at the crowd, his green cap at a saucy tilt.

That was it for Frank -- his brain was _done_. Luckily his body was still functioning okay, and he threw himself into the music. By the time they’d hit Destroya, Gerard’s cap was long gone, thrown into the crowd feather and all, and Frank had a river of sweat pouring down his back and familiar grooves pressed into his fingertips. He had a bad habit of chording too hard when he was zoning out into the sea of fans, but it felt good. Everyone started singing and chanting along, and Frank risked a glance over at Gee, and then tried not to make his double-take too obvious.

Gerard was fucking up against his light-up mic stand, one hand on the mic and one on his neck. Maybe he should have worn something under that thin tunic and tights, because his stage stiffy was... prominent.

Nobody else seemed to staring, though--at least not as inappropriately as Frank was -- and when Gerard stalked away from the stage and into the screaming crowd, tailed by a dogged security guy, he just grinned and pushed his face into the sea of grabbing hands. The crowd was all over him, and who wouldn’t be? Frank felt a surge of possessiveness, but then tamped it down. He’d have his hands all over Gerard soon enough.

******

They finished up the show, did a meet-and-greet at record speed, and Frank got them hustled into the hotel room.

“Finally,” Frank crowed, throwing his duffel in the room.

“I can’t wait to get out of this thing,” Gerard sighed contentedly, following Frank through the door.

“Noooo! Stop.” Frank gave him a pleading look, and then grinned as he realized Gee was just pushing his buttons. “Fuckin’ tease.”

Gerard dropped his bag and lifted his arms, making the short hem ride up. He leaned back against the wall, well aware of Frank’s eyes on him. He tucked his arms behind his head, letting Frank look, waiting.

Gerard stood there, hair fucking everywhere, face flushed, blush snaking its way down the v-neck of his tunic. He could feel it. He could also feel the strain of his dick against the tights, spot of wet darkening where his cock leaked precome. He almost thought he could come just from the dark look that Frank was giving him.

But he didn’t have to test that theory, because Frank was on him -- his lips, his teeth, his hands -- pulling Gerard away from the wall and down, over onto the bed. They wound up squirming together on the hotel bed like they had so many nights before, just trying to get more of each other. Gerard finally managed to get his hands under Frank’s shirts, and Frank stretched out the neck of Gerard’s tunic to get his mouth on Gerard’s chest, leaving a hickey so close to the nipple it made him ache for more. He must have moaned or something, or maybe Frank was psychic, because he kept pulling until he got access, even until the neck of the costume made a faint noise, like Frank was pulling at the seams too hard. Neither of them paid it any mind, Frank’s teeth finally where Gerard wanted them, Gerard’s fingers clutching at the back of Frank’s head, canting up his hips to press his cock against Frank’s belly.

Frank moved to the other side, tugging at the material until it gave enough for him to get access, and continued sinking his teeth into Gerard’s flesh like he was hungry for so much more than the taste of skin. When Gerard was close to begging for them to get naked already, Frank lifted his head and took the flimsy fabric of the costume in his hands. He gave Gerard a predatory smile, tightening his hands into fists, and a flicker of doubt crossed his expression.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice whisky-rough.

“Fuckyeah,” Gerard managed, thinking Frank would tear it all off at once.

Instead, Frank ripped the fabric a few inches, then dipped his head to lick and nip at the revealed skin, then ripped a few more inches open and did it all over again.

By the time Frank’s mouth got somewhere under Gerard’s belly button and just before the waist of the tights, Gerard lost the battle, finally gritting out, “C’mon, Frankie, jesusfucking _please_.”

Frank grinned up at him with a promise in his eyes, shredding the rest of the costume. Gerard started to peel the tights down, but Frank stopped him, grabbing his hands.

“No,” Frank growled. “Like this.” He reached up, pushing even more of Gerard’s tunic up around his waist, and groped hard. At least, Gerard thought he was just groping hard, until it made a noise, and Frank ripped a hole in the crotch of Gerard’s tights which, in retrospect, Gerard totally should have seen coming.

“Holy shit.” Gerard panted, looking down at Frank’s intense expression, the way he dipped his thumbs into the sheer material and pulled down, ripping the nylon apart and shredding laddered runs down Gerard’s thighs. The look on Frank’s face was somewhere between smug and dangerous. He looked back up at Gerard, getting a hand on his now-bared dick, gripping it too loosely in his fist.

Gerard propped himself up on his elbows, the ruins of his sleeves falling down around his shoulders. Everything he’d worn tonight was shredded now, but Frank was still fully clothed. Over-clothed, since it was Frank. Gerard was just about to complain, but then Frank took the head of Gerard’s cock in his mouth and started sucking, clever fingers sliding inside what was left of his tights to palm his balls. Gerard fell back on the pillows, surrendering gratefully to Frank’s tongue.

It wasn’t delicate or neat, what Frank was doing with his mouth. It was sloppy and rushed and hot and perfect. It was desperate, like Frank wanted nothing more. Frank’s fingers at the base of Gerard’s cock were wet with saliva when he reached back further and pressed one into Gerard’s ass, soon stretching him a little with two, and Gerard had to fight not to fuck up into his mouth.

“Frankie, fucking shit, fuck...” Gerard said, breathless, and Frank just twisted his fingers and let Gerard’s dick hit the back of his throat, and that was it, Gerard was coming with a shout, his hands on the back of Frank’s head.

He blinked the spots out of his vision in time to see Frank throwing his shirts across the room, kicking his jeans and underwear off, lube in his hand. He got back on the bed, kneeling between Gerard’s legs, and gave the tights another good tear, pushing Gerard’s knees towards his chest. He popped the lid on the bottle, pouring lube haphazardly over himself.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Gerard encouraged as Frank lined up, leaning in with one hand on his own cock, pushing inside Gerard easily; he was pliant, warm and boneless from having just come. The hot, slow pressure of Frank sliding inside him still made him gasp, made his legs tense up a little as sensation sparked over his skin again so soon.

“Fuckin’ _hell_ ,” Frank sighed reverently. His cock was about halfway inside Gerard, and he nudged them the rest of the way together, little fucks of his hips opening Gerard up slowly, insistently. “Do you have any fucking--mmm,” Frank paused, finally balls-deep, “any fucking idea how you fucking look right now?”

Gerard looked at Frank, eyes heavy-lidded, and then looked down at himself, wearing only the last tattered vestiges of a skimpy green costume and marks from Frank’s teeth covering his flushed, sweaty skin. He grinned slowly, his eyes sliding from his ragged tights to the ink on Frank’s chest to the hunger in his eyes. “I bet,” Gerard said slowly, clenching his ass around Frank’s cock for emphasis, “I look pretty good.”

Frank groaned, grinding Gerard a little harder into the mattress.

“Good enough to fuck?” Gerard teased, and caught a breath in his throat when Frank finally started moving his hips.

“Jesus, yes,” Frank managed, speeding up a little, letting go of Gerard’s legs in favor of propping himself up, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Don’t stop,” Gerard said, his voice almost a whisper. “So fuckin’ good. Wanna feel you come. Don’t stop, Frankie, don’t you fucking stop.”

“The way you look--shit, way you sound, feel, gonna--” and Frank broke off with a grunt, pinning Gerard and coming, his shoulders shaking. He lifted his chin when he came, his throat exposed to Gerard’s mouth. Gerard lifted his head up, just enough off the bed, to lick Frank’s neck right below his Adam’s apple. Frank made a noise deep in his throat that vibrated against Gerard’s lips, his hips stuttering with aftershocks.

Gerard grazed his teeth against the side of Frank’s throat, closing his lips over the skin and sucking until a hickey bloomed purple underneath, while Frank made an incomprehensible noise that rode the line between a whine and a moan.

“Fuckin’ cheater, Jesus,” Frank groaned when Gerard licked the warm, bruised skin there. “So not fair. Looking like porn and then doing that, shit.”

He caused them both to groan when he pulled out and then collapsed, half on top of Gerard and half on the bed.

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “ _I’m_ the cheater.”

“Porn,” Frank reminded him.

“Never betting against you again,” Gerard muttered. He felt boneless and almost too sticky to be comfortable, but he didn’t want to move. He’d have to untangle himself from the remaining scraps of costume, and Frankie would want them to shower soon. Maybe losing a bet wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I regret nothing,” Frank declared triumphantly before remembering himself. “Er, I mean. It wasn’t me.”

“Uh-huh,” Gerard couldn’t help but smile when Frank leaned in to kiss him.

They made out for a long time, long enough that Gerard didn’t protest when Frank pulled him up off of the bed, still kissing and giggling as they stumbled a little. He pressed Frank up against the wall, kissing him properly, steady and intent.

Frank broke the kiss and nuzzled against Gerard’s face, his forehead resting against Gerard’s.

“Hi,” Frank said, smirking like a motherfucker.

“This is the part where you’re trying to trick me into the shower,” Gerard observed. “It would work except for how I’ve seen this movie before.”

“We’re very close, just like feet away, and then we can get less sticky, and if you’re a good boy, I may blow you in the shower.” Frank nudged at Gerard’s shoulder, encouraging him to move. “We can sleep after and everything.”

“Promises, promises.” Gerard rolled his eyes, but let Frank drag him into the bathroom and stood there petulantly with his bottom lip stuck out as Frank cranked on the water and waited for Frank to turn around and look at him. When he did, Frank promptly cracked up.

“Dude, you look like the peak of maturity there,” Frank giggled.

“Whatever.” Gerard tried to keep his face serious, but a smile was creeping in at the corners. “I’m totally mature. I don’t make stupid bets and conspire against best friends to get said best friends to wear ridiculous costumes.”

“Either way, you’re still an old, old man.” Frank smirked. “And what should I have done? Asked?”

“You’re old too,” Gerard said. “You’re 30 now, practically a fossil. And you could’ve just asked.”

“You would know,” Frank said, looking wistful for a second. “And if I’d asked, would you have said yes? Even green tights?”

“Hey.” Gerard reached out and stroked his fingers down Frank’s side. “Happy Birthday, Frankie.”

“Thanks.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Now get in the fucking shower, it’s the temperature you like, as much as you ever like it, and I swear I don’t have anything that smells like flowers this time.”

“Ooooo, do you have that ginger smelling one?”

“I do!” Frank beamed.

“You totally brought it because you knew I’d complain less.”

“A little. And maybe because I knew I was gonna get to rip off your tights, so I’m ready with ginger soap and possibly another blowjob, if we don’t fall asleep in the shower.”

“We will not be falling asleep in the shower.” Gerard glared to express just how terrible that idea would be.

“Yes, dear.”

“Old man.”

“Never grow up, never surrender!”

*********

Gerard could tell that he’d be sore today, and the thought made him smile a little. Frank was plastered to his side, head tucked into the bend of Gerard’s neck, and Gerard was pretty sure that the faint wetness seeping into his t-shirt was Frank’s drool. Frank made them shower afterwards last night, the fucker, and now the little shit was drooling on his last nearly-clean shirt. Still, Gerard felt pretty fantastic about the whole thing, all told.

Gerard looked blearily at the clock. They didn’t fly out until the evening and it was only noon. His head hurt a little. He poked Frank in the nose to wake him up. Frank totally owed him for that whole bet thing, after all.

“Whatsit,” Frank mumbled and tucked his nose protectively against Gerard’s neck and away from his hand. “Lemme ‘lone.” His breathe tickled the hairs on Gerard’s neck.

Gerard simply flicked Frank’s ear, causing Frank to mutter wordlessly, followed by Frank’s teeth grazing Gerard’s neck. And okay, not exactly the direction he’d been going in, but he could work with it.

“Frank,” Gerard said, smile in his voice and fingers scratching at Frank’s scalp.

“No,” Frank said, craning his head into the touch like a cat. “Whatever it is, no. I’m not getting out of bed before noon. There aren’t any babies or dogs here. I don’t have to. I’m basking in afterglow and will bite you and not in a sexy way.”

“It’s noon-o-five,” Gerard said reasonably, stopping his scritches.

“Damnit, I knew I should have shot for one,” Frank muttered. “Hey, hands, with the stopping. Why the stopping?”

“Frankie, I want coffee,” Gerard said, letting a little bit of a whine into his voice.

“Of course you do,” Frank placated and made no move to get up. “You Ways always want coffee. Maybe it’s time to cut some of that shit out.”

Gerard pinched Frank’s side, causing him to yelp and roll out of bed, landing in a tangled heap with the comforter. Gerard laughed at the scowl on Frank’s face.

“I hate when you do that,” Frank grumbled, looking put-upon. Gerard only laughed harder.

“You should really expect me to do that at this point,” Gerard mentioned, buffing his nails on his shirt.

“Jamia should have never have taught you that trick.” Frank kicked at the comforter to untangle himself. He stood adjusting his boxers and smoothing out his t shirt. “Right, I’m only making you coffee in the room. I’m not putting on pants until, like, later. At a time I will not say, so that it isn’t refuted by some asshole’s logic and time-telling abilities.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Gerard said, trying for wibbly, but couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. “Why do I even like you?”

“That tongue thing,” Frank answered vaguely with a waggle of fingers and rubbing sleep out of his eye. “And my tights-ripping abilities.” Frank snapped his fingers as if coming to some sort of mental conclusion, and then picked up the pot and wandered toward the bathroom to fill it with water.

“The tongue thing is pretty good,” Gerard conceded.

“Hell yeah it is.” Frank walked back with a potful of water and set it down. “Did you know there’s a kiss on the corner of your mouth?” Frank seemingly changed the subject, staring at Gerard’s lips until he touched them with his fingers, not quite getting the reference yet. Frank giggled and collected his kiss, biting gently at Gerard’s lip.

“Shit!” Gerard giggled, kissing back before pulling away and laughing. “I shoulda gotten you a thimble.”

“Uh-uh, no way will I be foisted off with sewing notions,” Frank said sternly, looking a little more awake as he poured the water in the pot. He looked at the plastic packages of coffee before wisely taking both filters of coffee and putting them in, turning the pot on. He picked up the comforter and tossed it back on the bed, then jumped and crashed next to Gerard.

“You’re actually ten, aren’t you?” Gerard smirked.

“Jumping onto a hotel bed is totally allowed.” Frank stuck his tongue out at Gerard and reached for his cell phone, mashing a few keys.

“Unless you break the bed,” Gerard offered, smiling at the memory.

“Yeah, that was totally Mikey’s fault, though,” Frank protested and giggled. “Speaking of.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asked.

“Apparently he and Ray are bringing ‘real coffee,’ whatever that means, and N64,” Frank said, pecking at the keys a bit then depositing his phone back on the night stand.

“Ah, real coffee…” Gerard smiled. His brother was awesome, clearly.

“Whatever,” Frank dismissed. “We can totally play Super Smash Brothers.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely ten,” Gerard said, nodding sagely until Frank poked him in the side.

“You’re just sad because you’re so much older.” Frank smirked.

“Fucker,” Gerard chided. “For that, you have to go pour me some coffee and bring it back to me.”

“Sure thing, grandpa. I realize you can’t get around as easily as you used to,” Frank chirped, dodging the pillow Gerard lobbed at him.

Gerard made it through the entire little pot of coffee, with Frank stealing sips, just in time for Mikey and Ray to arrive with coffee and the gaming system in tow.

“Of course, neither of you are wearing pants,” Ray observed, not at all surprised.

“Easy access, Toro,” Mikey deadpanned, but his eyebrows had a touch of humor in them.

“Mikeyway speaks the truth,” Frank said, giving a lewd wink.

“Just the voice of experience,” Mikey said, shrugging. “And we’ve all met you.” He gave a pointed look at Frank. Frank had the nerve to giggle.

“God, remind me never to bet against you again,” Gerard muttered, chuckling.

“So, how about another little wager then?” Frank asked, looking every bit as cheeky and impossible little shit that he was, taking the chance to jump up and help Ray hook up the Nintendo.

Mikey sat at the top of the bed right next to Gerard, reaching him one of the coffees he was holding. He got settled and put his head on his brother’s shoulder with a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

“No more tights,” Gerard was quick to say. “Not ever.”

“But that was fun and hot and--”

“No.” Gerard was firm, even as Frank flailed a little with the tangled cord of the gaming system.

“You’re no fun, Gerard Way,” Frank declared, sticking his tongue out. “Wait, what about fishnets? Fishnets aren’t tights, right? Because you need to wear those onstage sometime.”

“Or maybe there’d be a way to involve more of us this time,” Ray suggested, deftly changing the subject. “Or hair dye could be involved. You can’t go wrong with hair dye.”

“Maybe both,” Mikey agreed.

“You’re all going to kill me. I’m certain of it.”

 

****

*Three Months Later*

Gerard was totally rocking the orange hair. Totally. _And_ his striped shirt that looked vaguely reminiscent of Mikeyway’s French Pirate era. But he didn’t care. He was with his brothers in Australia playing a few shows and Ray totally owed him a few sexual favors. He’d totally won this one.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Faith, and Trust, and Pixie Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/657841) by [dapatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty)




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